Just in case, there's always "The Rose Bowl"

If I don't win a place in today's Flower Competition, I'll take comfort in my recent win in the W.I. Corsage Competition at the coveted silver Rose Bowl, which will remain in my possession for the coming year!

Here's a picture from that competition...

The Rose Bowl and the winning Corsage!

p.s. Wished we lived in time wherein we had more excuses/reasons to wear corsages...*SIGH*

A Day of Reckoning

Yesterday, The DEB and I rushed home from a fantastic holiday in Snowdonia/North Wales, so that I could meet the submission deadline for the Village Show Flower, Fruit and Veg Competition.
When we arrived home, I held my breath as I opened the patio doors hoping that my roses had flourished.
Sadly, my favourite, cherished cream coloured, David Austin antique rose had a really rough season, and failed to blossom in time. I was crestfallen as I had placed all my hopes that this rose would be as prolific and beautiful this year, as it had been last year.
However, to my great surprise, my pink, David Austin antique rose -- the shrub that has been my greatest gardening challenge, the one that seemed always, always to struggle to survive, and quite frankly, very nearly got the chop last season (!) beamed proudly with a staggering array of beautiful blooms in shades of apricoty, soft pink. Amazing.
(There's a lesson in there, somewhere!)
I was quite literally spoilt for choice with enough blooms to enter into three separate Flower Competition categories:
a.) Single specimen in water b.) garden flower display in vase, and, c.) Three scented flowers, of any variety in water.
I'm most proud of my "garden flower display" which was a lovely (if I may say so myself) arrangement of lilac gladioli, surrounded by hot pink shrub roses (Rosa Complicata) -- another plant in the garden I'd nearly given up on! -- pink wildflowers, pink and red fuschisas, pink antique rose, lavender and sprigs of baby-blue forget-me-nots.
I'm a little worried now that I may have done myself a disservice by placing this arrangement in the "garden flowers in a vase" category and not the "Floral arrangement" category. Well, the competition will be stiff in either so, it probably doesn't matter which one I entered!
At the very least, I think I deserve a ribbon for my dedication. The DEB (bless him!) and I trudged across the village, through the allotments, in the rain, gingerly carrying the arrangements to the Scout Hut, where the competition is being held.
I think we've made a strong showing as a family with my three floral displays, and a display of herbs the DEB has been faithfully growing this summer. I entered a display of his sage, oregano, parsley, mint, rosemary and thyme on his behalf. (What a good little Wifey I am!)
So -- today is the day. The Show just opened at 11:00 AM, and the results are out.
You'd've thought I'd be there, beating down the door. But, alas, no. I'm feeling rather shy...
I'd prefer to sneak in when no one's around to see. Quite unlikely, I think.
Of course, I'd love to place, but really, I'm just proud that I found the courage to actually have a go this year. The phenomenon of the "Village Show" has to be experienced to be fully appreciated.
I'm a real "Jilly Come Lately" to all of this, and there are some very keen gardeners who dedicate themselves to this competition every year.
There's a scene in ITV's wonderful, wonderful drama Downton Abbey -- which thankfully will be returning to our television screens this Autumn!!! And, not a moment too soon!! -- where Maggie Smith's formidable Duchess without question expects to win the annual village rose competition, as she has done every year for as long as anyone could recall! Thankfully, our Village Show is not as fierce as that!

Everything's coming up Roses

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” – Romeo & Juliet

If procrastination were an art form, my level of genius would rival Mozart. These days, my preferred method of whiling away an hour or two is that most serious, most wonderful, and most British form of procrastination of them all: Gardening.

Of course, pride of place in any English garden belongs irrefutably to the Rose. And, at the moment it seems I do very little else beyond fretting about my roses. With good reason – I am aiming to win a ribbon in this year’s Village Show Flower competition. I was too timid to enter last year, fearing that a novice such as myself would stand no chance in the fray. More fool me, as the blooms in last season’s yield were profuse and of such lovely quality they earned even the praise of my chum and rose expert, Paul Smith, at Charlecote Park.

That lesson being learned, I ‘screwed my courage to the sticking place’, and was determined not to allow the floral opportunity to elude me twice. I tested the waters by entering an arrangement in this year’s W.I. Corsage Competition. The Corsage competition, though smaller in scale than the Village Show, is just as friendly and just as fierce. Perhaps, even a little more so as the coveted Barford W.I. Rose Bowl is at stake. The Rose Bowl remains in the possession of the winner for 12 months - a sterling reminder of the victor’s horticultural achievement. I yelped with glee when I was declared this year’s winner, feeling truly a champion amongst champions.

After such a remarkable success, I felt ready for an even bigger challenge: the Barford Village Show Flower, Fruit, and Vegetable Competition. I was ready, but what about the roses? To my utter dismay, the darling buds of May, June and July had all disappeared without a trace by early August. The prolific flourishes of last year, had given way to a meagre struggle for any colour at all.

I was beside myself, but not alone. Outside the Village Shop, I chanced upon my friend Kate, a stalwart of the annual Flower, Fruit and Veg competition. She and husband, Ian, were off to Scotland, she said. “But, you’ll miss the Village Show!” I gasped in disbelief. She looked forlorn, and replied sadly: “Nothing’s growing like it should.” I knew exactly how she felt. My own holiday plans (or lack of them) have been shaped and altered by many things, but I can honestly say, that roses have never been one of them. Until now.

Since ancient times, roses have enthralled poets and writers (there are at least seventy references to roses in Shakespeare’s works), as well as artists, monarchs, apothecaries, lovers, and, of course, gardeners. The queen of flowers and national emblem of England, roses are as temperamental as they are beautiful. When they are ‘happy’, all is right in the world, and they offer an abundance of flower and fragrance; when they are ‘discontented’ there seems no remedy, and their bare, yellowy, spiky and skeletal appearance seems a harbinger of impending doom. Without a doubt there are few joys more sublime than that of being the possessor and cultivator of a healthy, ‘happy’ rose.

Noting of the hazards of the invasive Wickwar rose (Rosa ‘Wickwar’), Sir Roy Strong once admonished gardeners to “Beware the Rose that will Engulf your Garden”, I think he may have gone one better, and offered would-be green-thumbers more apt advice: “Beware the Rose that will Engulf your Life”!

My (non) Award-winning Rose

I'm very proud of my first English roses, not least that I managed not to kill them!

Had I been more prepared, this is the rose I would have submitted to the Village Show Flower competition.

...oh well, there's always 2014...

English roses

Yesterday the D.E.B. & I celebrated our one month wedding anniversary! The occasion had to be marked with some romance and just a wee bit of fanfare. So, we decided to plant a rose bush in the churchyard at St. Peter's Church, where we were married last month.

I spent yesterday afternoon scouring the nurseries in the area for the 'perfect' rose. The perfect rose was to be found at the garden shop in Charlecote. They specialise in David Austin Roses -- the roses to buy. 

We had thought we would opt for a classic, David Austin, antique rose, stately character and all, but on the day a fresh, funky new English rose won out. It is a new variety of David Austin rose that has the look of a poppy rather than a classic rose, very cheeky and sassy. And very "us" I thought.  A rose with personality. 

Speaking of personality, I had promised the Vicar when I secured his permission to plant the rose, that our little "romantic gesture" would not turn into a "thing," i.e. an event. Who was I kidding? This is Barford, everything we do here turns into a "thing"! And wonderfully so.

After finding the rose, I decided to bake a huge Devil's Food, uber-chocolate cake. (What is it with me and cake?) I was due to meet our dear friend, Sally, in the afternoon to work on her upcoming performance project, and had to cancel. 

I apologised profusely, sharing with her the details of our anniversary plan: "We're planting a rose in the churchyard. And the vicar and his wife are joining us..." 

"Oh, golly! How lovely!" Sally yelped with joy, "You must allow me to read something! Is that too bold a thing for me to ask? Do say."  How could I possible say no to such a sweet request.

 As I put the phone down, I realised our little gesture had become a thing...

I phoned Sally back quickly, and pleaded: "You won't bring the choir, will you?" She just laughed. Sally is an amazing, who I must write about at some point. She's 's a professional actor, and has acted her way around the globe and has three different passports! (We feel like we have known her forever.) 

 The vicar had a meeting until around 8 PM, so the D.E.B. and I went along early to prep the ground for the rose, and to take Lucy for a walk.  As we walked back to our house, with dog, shovel and watering can, we must have looked a sight.

Our very jovial friend, Robert, stopped us near the Village Shop: "You two look up to something," he laughed. After explaining our plan, an invitation was of course extended to him and his wife, Julia, one of my Monday-Wednesday Swim Club pool-mates. 

At this point, the D.E.B. and I looked at each other, and decided promptly to rush home as quickly as possible, and to be very rude and not speak to another single soul en route!

It has been uncharacteristically hot in these parts, so our rose planting ceremony was scheduled for late evening. We met in the churchyard around half 8: us, our wonderful Vicar, David and his fabulous wife, Sue, Julia and Robert and Sally. 

As promised, Sally did a beautiful reading from Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet:

Then Almitra spoke again and said, 

"And what of Marriage, master?"

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart, 

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow. 

The vicar said a blessing over us and our rose, whom we christened Geraldine (after Dawn French's character in the TV series "The Vicar of Dibley"). We then popped a cork, and had some bubbly and chocolate cake in the churchyard. 

It was a truly lovely evening, and I am so thankful to our friends for joining us.

The D.E.B. then treated me to my favourite meal: Fish n' chips from my favourite chippy, Kingfisher's in Ely Street in Stratford-upon-Avon. Trust me, it is worth every bit of the 7 mile drive.

We came home, had fish and chips and watched The Italian Job with Michel Caine and Noel Coward. I cannot believe I have never seen it! It is an "Understanding the English 101" essential, and positively indispensable for understanding the British male psyche!! As well as a great laugh, and highly enjoyable movie.

So, the first month of marriage has been duly marked. As I said to the vicar, I am a woman of rituals. I think rituals are vitally important, an outward sign of intangible mysteries. I think a life without rituals would be very sad indeed.

The symbolism of our little ritual yesterday had escaped me until I was in the pool this morning chatting with Jackie 1, as she plowed through her daily 150 laps: "Well, Alycia. That's it then. You see, you've quite literally put down roots here in Barford. So you two are here for good now. No two ways about it." 

I certainly hope Jackie 1 is right.